The local search parties had been joined by teams with cadaver dogs—an unwelcome reality check, based on the passage of time since the Nolan child had been taken.
“You talk to the lab?” Dean asked.
“Yesterday and today. Special Agent Davis called them, too. They say they’re doing the best they can. And, truth be told, I’m not sure we sent them anything that’s going to tell us much.”
Cliff Davis was the senior of the two agents the Mississippi Bureau of Investigation had sent down. Eden had found him helpful and professional, but a couple of times, she thought she’d detected a gleam of contempt in his eyes when she asked for his opinion of things the department had talked about doing.
Paranoid, she chided herself. Everybody was grasping at straws, including the Bureau.
She’d been open with her officers, that if they had any ideas about other avenues they should be pursuing in this investigation, they should speak up. Several had, and they’d already put a couple of those suggestions into play.
And of course, they were still concentrating on the tried-and-true. They’d interviewed the registered sex offenders in the region—at least the ones they could track down. They’d also canvassed the upscale neighborhood where the Nolans lived to see if anyone had seen or heard anything unusual, not only on the night of the kidnapping, but also in the days leading up to it.
The Nolans had both taken lie-detector tests, verifying hers and Dean’s initial reactions to their stories. The hotline and the Amber Alert had yielded a ton of calls, but so far nothing that led anywhere. Other than that…
“We sent ’em all we got.” Dean’s comment was nothing but the truth. A truth that grew less palatable with each passing hour.
“I don’t know what else to do.”
“You’ve done everything you can,” her deputy chief said earnestly. “Nobody could’a handled this better. I mean that, Chief.”
He always called her chief, despite how long he’d known her. Almost twenty years, Eden realized, a little surprised it had been that long.
But then, her existence before they’d moved to Waverly seemed very distant. Another time. Another place. Another life.
“I really appreciate your saying that, Dean. I keep thinking there must be something we haven’t thought of. Something that will give us a handle on who did this.”
“Sometimes, despite all you can do, things like this just don’t have a happy ending.”
“I know.” She did. The chance that they’d find Raine Nolan alive decreased hour by hour. And far too many of those had already passed.
“Why don’t you go on home and get some sleep? I grabbed a few hours this morning. I can hold down the fort for a while.”
Eden glanced at the clock above her office door. The windowless room made it too easy to lose track of time, especially when things had been as hectic as today. Still, she was surprised to find it was almost seven. It would be dark in another hour. Since the marshy terrain was too treacherous to risk after nightfall, even the search parties would be coming in.
She might as well take advantage of Dean’s offer. He was more than capable of taking charge of the command center.
Especially when there was so little to command.
“I think I’ll do that. You’ll call me if anything happens? And I mean anything, Dean.”
“You’ll be the first to know.”
They both understood how unlikely such a call would be, given the end of the searching day. Sadly, it was now almost a relief when they had reached that point without incident. It meant that at least for one more day Eden didn’t have to face Margo Nolan with the news that her daughter had been found. And that, against her mother’s hopeful expectations, she wouldn’t be coming home again.
HIS GRANDMOTHER USED to preach to him about “speaking things into existence.” At the time, Jake had considered it all a bunch of Holy Roller hogwash, but when the familiar flickering began, his vow that he would keep any other “visions” to himself came to mind.
That was the last thought he managed before the horror closed in, so strong it made rational thinking impossible. The darkness was terrifying enough, but now, somehow, he knew what it contained. And understood the things that could happen within it.
He could again hear water dripping. Could smell its stench. Maybe if he opened his eyes…
There was more light this time, so that his surroundings were clearer, more distinct. Exposed roots lay against the black walls like a network of veins.
A trickle of moisture glinted on the ground in front of him, reflecting a light whose source he couldn’t determine. The sun? Or something artificial? Something put into this place to illuminate it?
Not that it did. Not to any real degree.
A splinter of his mind continued to worry over that. The rest was lost in the same primitive fear that had encompassed him before.
This time, however, he knew something about the source of that fear. Not enough to identify it, but enough to know it was to be avoided at all costs.
Stooping, he scrambled backward to get away from it. Away from the light, he realized, which must mean—
As quickly as he’d been thrust into the darkness, he was thrown out of it. This time, rather than kneeling beside his truck, he was lying on the floor of his grandmother’s parlor, the fibers of its faded wool carpet rough against his cheek.
Physically unable to move, he lay there for what seemed like hours, trying to orient himself into the present. When he had, he realized that, once again, where the flashback had taken him hadn’t been to the past. Not back to the desert. Not the war.
This had been something more immediate. Something nearer in both time and space.
He hadn’t seen the little girl. He searched the fragments of memory that lingered like smoke in his brain and found within them no trace of another presence.
He’d been the only one there. In the darkness. And whoever was coming…
Whoever.
Not whatever. Whoever. His subconscious had known that before he had consciously arrived at the phrase.
Whoever was coming…
He pushed up from the floor, feeling as if he’d been physically beaten. The flashbacks always left him dazed, almost hungover. This…this was something different. An alternative unpleasantness.
He’d been terrified again. A sick, bowel-tightening horror that revolved around whoever was going to appear out of that darkness. Despite the long years of his military career, through all the firefights and ambushes he’d survived, he couldn’t remember ever being that frightened.
Because there’s nothing you can do about what’s going to happen.
That was it exactly. Always before, he had felt that, no matter what they threw at him, he could hold his
